


still waters

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Whump, gabriel knows abt the arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale is effectively blackmailed by a certain few demons with prior knowledge of his and crowley's involvement with each other. gabriel comes to help just a little too late
Relationships: Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), lightly hinted on gabriels side
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	still waters

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly just aziraphale being miserable bc i needed to get my feelings out and vent in the form of uuuhh fic so !!!! enjoy [ heavy cw for discussed violent rape ]

it's the funniest thing, really.

amidst all his crying, the only thing aziraphale can think to focus on is how he's ruining the silk. staining pure white sheets beyond what they've already soaked in from hours past. the dark red blotches of previous coupling etched into ever fibre. he'll never get them out.

his sobs open-mouthed into the crux of his arm. drool sinking down his chin in a quiet testament to how little care he still retains for himself. he can taste his own salt. tears and snot, mixed with saliva. he's disgusting, _revolting._ his own body is a crime against him.

there's vomit and blood on the floor below him. he's not quite certain how it got there. he's been in and out of this daze for a few hours now. his body aching, vision half-starved for anything beyond black and white flashes. the blurry spots of light he almost mistakes for heaven.

but no god will want him now. not after what he's done. what he's allowed to be done to him.

he remembers now how he'd vomited before, the memory brought back in horrid recollection as he spills over the edge of his mattress once more. he rubs his bleary eyes, coming back up for air. they're wet and swollen, painful to touch. when his knuckles come back well-sheened and slick, he hardly has the wits to bask in the shame of being so weak. he's already ashamed of enough aside from that.

he can't do this. he's dying, he must be - he's crying out to an empty sky, for a god who would only offer her hands to him if it meant she could snap his neck. and he hates himself for it. despises what he's become.

sick. used. _harlot._ a frivolous, mindless sheath for others to tear their pleasure from. whoring himself out like a fucking cocksleeve. his heart thrums faster, beating in his throat to the tune of his own nausea. it hurts so badly to have a pulse, to feel it pounding. he can't remember how to turn it off. how to stop feeding its impulse with every gasp of air he forces down his throat. he doesn't want to breathe this air. he can still smell them in it. he doesn't want any more of them in his body, around him, anywhere _near_ him.

he wants to throw up all over again.

falling asleep is easier like this, at least. his head is too heavy for the thin bone his spine has been reduced to. he can't bear to lift it from his pillow. his eyes close, reopen and close. there's no point in raising his lids. he can't see any better like that regardless. 

the heat that fills him up rides the tide of his agony. passing over every shock of paroxysm, flooding his skull with thick, sopping fog until it's too hard to even think _about_ thinking. his cheeks are still wet. the pillowcase sticks to his face uncomfortably damp. he can only lie still in resolute determination to endure it.

the door creaks. it creaks, and creaks, moving in timid increments. with every push farther open aziraphale's ears flush full of ringing. an unfeasible buzz, like cicadas in the summer. he can feel the hot sun on his skin, the cooling breeze that follows. he's too warm, too cold, shivering and groping aimlessly for his blankets, with his body still working up a feverish sweat.

by the time there's a voice speaking to him, he can't make out the words to the slightest distinct syllable. his turns his head, stretches his clammy lids open just enough to see a tall silhouette at his bedside. there's a hand looming over him. it presses atop his head, the thick, smooth palm stinging like scorched metal to freezing skin. aziraphale sobs from it, jerking away.

"sit still," the voice tells him. "can you tell me what's happened?"

aziraphale keeps up his wailing like a cry in self-defense. wearing out the last gasp of air from his lungs, until the organs seem to give out, rubbed raw on the interior from all his howling. even then, he can't help letting out small, indistinct sounds with every breathe he shudders out. a sloppy inhale and exhale, his muscles having forgotten the sordid routine.

"aziraphale, i need you to focus for me. try to think clearly. do you know who did this to you?"

aziraphale wants to shake his head, wants to plead innocent, scream _'no, no, no!',_ but he knows that's not true. he knows his body was offered with open, trembling hands. palms upturned and revealed, ready for lashing with willful acceptance.

he whimpers at the acknowledgement.

"were there multiple people? mortals, or something else?"

aziraphale nods his head. he hardly knows what he's agreeing to.

"demons?" the voice comes forward more inquisitively. _concerned._ aziraphale nods his head again.

"alright, can you tell who i am? do you know where you are right now?"

aziraphale tries to sit up to get a better view. something awful shoots up his spine, smarts at every muscle, every tendon, all the way up to his gritting teeth, aching jaw.

"i'm in... i'm in my bed, at home. and there's - there's blood everywhere, gabriel - "

the realization of who he's talking to works like a time-release pill. his brain catches up to his ruddy, swollen tongue (how'd he injure that too? he doesn't remember, can't recall), and he recoils with the shock, shrinking in on himself. 

there's a hand in his hair. it's the first thing to touch him that hasn't burned him in some way or another since... _this_ began.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry. please - please forgive me. please don't make me fall." he heaves, stomach clenching, abdomen drawn tight in a spring-coiled threat as he tries his hardest not to be ill in front of his boss. that's the last thing he needs right now, _more_ humiliation.

gabriel doesn't let up petting at him, soothing through his damp, tousled curls.

"you can't fall for something like this, aziraphale." he hushes his worries. "heaven wouldn't dream of forgoing an angel for a crime they played no part in."

"but im - " aziraphale struggles, his voice sounds wet with tears and choked up saliva, pathetic to hear. "i'm _dirty._ "

"no," gabriel says. "you're raped."

aziraphale buckles over with shame again. sobbing aloud at the single, filthy word. he's ashamed of himself, ashamed of his total lack of discipline, his frailness, his fragility. how brittle must an angel be to end up wrecked beyond repair over something so - so physical, trivial, _mortal?_

"they told me - they told me, if i didn't - didn't give myself over to them, they'd go back to hell, tell satan himself about - you know - the _arrangement._ " aziraphale manages a tired explanation once his brain re-inhabits his body.

gabriel's expression turns cold, lifeless. a corpse might display some further emotion than he wears. "i see."

"i didn't know what else to do, i'm sorry, i don't - there's blood, i wasn't ready, i can't stop bleeding!" aziraphale continues rambling, panic setting in now that he's finally in a straight state of mind again. 

"are you in any pain?" gabriel asks. he still looks quite like he'd rather be shoving his fists into a ruptured, bloody pulp of demon body. he's always been one for a thorough smiting. 

"inside." aziraphale says. "feels like i'm bruised, o-on the inside."

"alright," gabriel stands, clearly resolute in whatever decision he's just made. "i'll take care of this."

his fingers snap. the room smells light and fresh, there's not a book out of place, no stains to look down upon and weep over. aziraphale, too, finds himself entirely cleansed. the sticky mass of red between his legs replaced with nothing but soft, sweet-scented air. lavender, he recognizes. lavender and lilac. 

he can breathe again. his chest doesn't hurt anymore.

"thank you." he says. "thank you, please - please stay with me. i don't feel quite safe on my own."

"i can't do that, aziraphale. i'm sorry, i have higher duties in heaven, as you well know." gabriel reminds him, chewing back the bite of a gentle reprimand. he grinds it between his molars, beats it into dust and ash. that's still not enough to soften the blow it reaps upon aziraphale.

"i know." aziraphale defers without question, giving in easily. always too compliant for his own damn good. 

gabriel's hands curl in his pockets. he keeps a watchful eye on the fists they furl into, making sure he doesn't break his knuckles like last time. lips stretching thin, marred by a painfully polite frown, he gives into the buried pleas. settling into a chair at the desk just opposite to aziraphale's bed, and flipping through the delicates pages of a book half as old as he is.

"but i suppose i can call off for a little while, just to ensure your proper recovery. watch over you while you recuperate." he says, grinning gently, _calmly,_ calm as he can fake it in his current state.

aziraphale's relief is well worth the effort. "oh, thank you. thank you so very much, gabriel, i - i don't know what i'd ever do without you."

he cups his soft hands together, rattles them fiercely as he speaks. gabriel falls in love with him a little bit more with every tender, expressive shake. the lines of his face feel smoothed out, less tense. his body doesn't burn quite the same way as it used to. the anger can rest, so long as aziraphale's here. so long as he has aziraphale to look after.

"whenever you need me," he reassures. "i'm just a prayer away."

and it's cheesy, it's tacky, but it makes aziraphale laugh. so gabriel's more than happy to ease himself into the well-refined business of keeping one particular angel distracted for the next few hours. the entire rest of the evening, if he must. anything aziraphale requires of him, he'll give it.

it's only an angel's duty to shelter the sweet and unspoiled, after all. he's fulfilling god's intentions for him. she gave him the ability to love, and he'll honor that choice with every step he takes, everything he does in a day.

he'll love aziraphale until no person can doubt she made the right decision.


End file.
